


You fill every space in between

by aredburn



Category: Erkenci Kuş (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredburn/pseuds/aredburn
Summary: Post episode 43. A tentative first time fic.





	You fill every space in between

**Author's Note:**

> I... have no idea what I'm doing. Enjoy.

_I came for you. I stayed for you. I’m not leaving._

The boat rocks softly under her feet. It’s small, made for one person to live in, but she doesn’t mind; it means he has to squeeze pass through her and the proximity makes her heart skip a beat.

He had said the words she wanted to hear ever since she first saw him back and they had crumbled the flimsy wall still up around her heart; it was all she had needed to let him crawl back inside of her as if he had never left. The world had shifted back on its axis and she hadn’t felt like she’d stumble and fall at every step she took.

They had been arguing while the boat sailed lazily further from shore, exchanging frustrated words and exchanging the emotional load they had been both carrying over their shoulders.  She had done her dramatics and he had thrown her phone over the boat. They argued, they bickered. The they kissed. And they kissed until the hurt had faded into the love that burned them up like an internal fever.

Now they’re here, trying to ignore the stupid misunderstanding had kept them apart for a year. Now she’s here, planning something she’s wanted since she saw him walk naked into the shower.

She’s nervous. Not as much as she should be, but still her hands shake slightly and the silence of the sea around them allows her to hear every intake of her breath.

It’s happening tonight.

She knows this isn’t what she came here for, but she’s ready. She doesn’t want to wait anymore; she’s been waiting for a year for the pain to go away, wishing she had done things differently, wishing she had trusted him more, wishing she hadn’t said such vile, hurtful words, wishing she had him know right there and then that screw that notebook, she didn’t care about it.

She’s done wishing, she’s done waiting; she can’t allow her body to keep lighting up only for the flames to be put out. She wants to burn. And she wants to burn with him.

He opens the freezer and she looks over his shoulder, making sure she’s close enough for him to feel the scent of her perfume. She catches a whiff of soap and the smell of his crisp cologne: woody and musky and it feels like being wrapped inside one of his embraces. “You really packed for a trip, huh?” The freezer is empty where she looks and she gives him a half smile.

“I wasn’t expecting company or else I’d have made arrangements for the night.” He gives her a look that is playful and full of the underlying sexual tension that has been cursing them for longer than she can remember _._

Her cheeks burn up and she turns around, pretending to check the rest of the miniscule room out and the only thing left to see is the bed. Her mind immediately conjures up images of them, naked bodies tangled up in something she has never experienced. Not with another person. Not with him. She takes a deep breath and tries to shake away the images, slow the beating of her heart, tries to ignore that low burning deep in her stomach.

He’s holding up a bottle of wine and two glasses when she turns back. She raises an eyebrow at the wine knowing he remembers pretty well what it does to her. “I know, but…” She watches him struggle with his thoughts and the words that want to leave his lips. He’s still skittish around her, as if she’ll take flight any moment if he says the wrong thing. “I was sailing by Spain and uh… it made me think of you. It was one those days.”

Every thought that had made her body shiver disappears, replaced by a flash of the pain she had felt the entire year they had been apart. Her heart had been replaced by stone, maybe his had too.

She moves back to his side and gently takes the bottle from him. It has birds all over its white label. El Pajaro Rojo. So simple yet heavy enough to trigger a breakdown had _she_ been in _one of those days_ too. It been so easy to slip down the darkness when she was desperately grabbing onto anything that would pull her up. It had been easy, _so easy_ , to slip back down.

He motions for her to follow him up the short set of steps out of the cabin and around to the front of the boat. There’s a blanket laid out on the deck with pillows on it. She wonders if maybe he hopes for the night to turn out differently than they expect and she doesn’t mind. They sit close enough to keep brushing their arms with every movement. He opens the bottle and pours some for her, then him.

The weather is warm. Spring is bleeding into summer and the sky is bursting with red and pink and blue as the sun settles down one ribbon at a time in front of them. She missed this explosion of colors and sounds and smells, the way the world just becomes alive when he’s around. Because that’s how she feels: _alive_. As if the deep down hole she had fallen into had been a black and white movie from someone else’s story.

She takes a sip of the wine; it’s rich on her tongue, a mix of flowers and red fruits and hint of oak. It goes down her throat like silk. A soft breeze blows a strand of hair on her face and he reaches out to brush it away before she can. His hand is gentle when it lays on her cheek, his palm so large it covers half her face. She missed this, being touched by him, being allowed to touch him. When he looks at her it feels like the first time, the very first day she was choking on her words about him and he just… stared; eyes flickering to her lips every half a second, desire and curiosity so clear on his face like a foreign book she was fluent in and had read a dozen times.

He still looks at her like that. Like she is a mix of every language he knows and he doesn’t know, like he can read her so easily one moment and can’t figure out the next. Like he owns every single inch of her skin, of her heart and her mind, and still doesn’t.

She kisses him. It’s just a simple press of lips, but he tastes of wine and his hand cradles her face and the other finds the curve of her waist, and the world around them comes to a stop. She pulls back and he’s looking at her with heavy lidded eyes and an expression she’s seen often enough when she looked at herself in the mirror. Desire flows through his skin, takes a ride on his breathing, makes his hands tremble where they touch her.

She wonders if he has ever touched himself thinking of her. Because she has. In those days it was almost unbearable to be near him, the days the burning inside her body almost drove her up the walls, the days she locked herself up in her room after everyone had gone to sleep and touched herself pretending it was his hands between her legs.

The sky is fading to black above them and she watches as the stars flicker to life one after the other. He won’t push her, he never will so this desire building inside them and between them will just keep growing and growing and growing until either she explodes or he does. So she decides.

She sets the glass still filled with wine to the side and rises.

“Where are you-” he starts asking in confusion, but she interrupts him.

“Come with me.” He follows.

They’re back inside the cabin and she holds his hands, laces her fingers with him and pulls him deeper into the room, closer to the bed.

“Sanem-” It’s the moment realization sinks in and the look on his face almost makes her laugh. He looks _scared_. He looks as if it’s too soon, too fast, too careless. And she really doesn’t care.

“I want this,” she nods, “I’m ready. I’m done waiting.”

He just stands there, in the middle of the small room looking too big to fit in such a small boat, his presence filling every empty space and breathing becomes harder. Was he caught this off guard? Hadn’t he been waiting for her for so long? Did he think she wanted to wait for _marriage_? She can barely hold on as it is.

Then he moves, grabs her face and kisses her. The feel of his lips against hers is different; it’s urgent, heavy with desire that flows between them in electric waves. His lips slide across hers, hot and hard and she opens her mouth and flicks her tongue at his bottom lip. The hand on her waist presses harder against her skin, the hand on the back of her neck closes around a handful of her hair. She moans, a chocked up sound that she never heard herself make before and her body heats up with the pressure building up inside.

She knows what desire is.

She knows what frustration is.

And now she knows how it is to fuel one and kill the other.

Her body burns up to this, as if it knows it’s not a test, it’s not a tentative exploring of what they’re allowed to do.

He puts an arm around her and pulls her closer, full against is body, hand splayed on her back dangerously low, the other grabbing the back of her neck to put more pressure between their lips and every inch of their bodies are flat against the other. She rises on her tiptoes, her arms lock around his neck as if this is all she can do to hold on and this is when she feels him hard against her, pressing against her stomach and she gasps into the kiss.

She didn’t mean to, she really didn’t. But she’s never seen or felt anyone and – her thoughts start to scramble and her hands start shaking again. It’s happening, _it’s really happening_ and she feels scared and excited and euphoric and the only thing she can compare this to is when she drank almost an entire bottle of wine and felt free.

His hand makes a slow path down her body, joining the other one on the high slope of her ass. He rocks against her, just a little bit and watches with fascination her sharp intake of breath. _Oh_ , is all she can think.

He kisses her neck this time, nibbling and licking the sensitive patch between head and shoulder and all she can do is turn her head to give him all the access he needs. His hands slide lower and he kneads her ass, gentle and hard enough to send another shiver through her.

_Oh._

Is this how this is going to be, she thinks. Everything he does, every touch, every kiss, is going to be a completely new sensation? This isn’t the gentle kisses they exchanged when she thought no one was looking, or the caresses they stole when they could, or the bold touches in the few moments they were alone.

She takes one small step back and removes the heavy piece hanging from her neck, then unknots the white blouse over her dress, letting it slide from her arms and fall to a heap on the floor. She doesn’t know why she felt like wearing all white today, but now it feels strangely fitting for the moment. Then she takes one step closer again and dares him to remove the rest.

His hands are shaking when he brushes the straps of her dress off her shoulders and she feels a flicker of satisfaction in knowing she isn’t the only one nervous. The dress falls, joining the rest of her garments, and when she faces him again she’s wearing nothing but her underwear and the chain around her neck.

His eyes immediately drop to small ring hanging between her breasts. “You kept it.” His voice is small, a whisper of emotion and she’s taken aback at how much it means to him she kept it.

“I said I’d take it with me forever.” She had meant it then, and she still does. On her finger, or close to her heart, that ring would stay with her forever just like he would.

She’s suddenly shy under the look he gives her and forces herself not to cover her breasts. She feels so exposed and bare because nobody had ever seen her with such intimacy, nobody had ever seen her so raw, so naked. But his attention is on her face, her lips, then her eyes; his are almost black, pupils so large she can barely see the brown in them, hers are probably wide.

“Are you sure?”

The humming of her skin whenever he touches her is sure. The wetness pooling in her underwear is sure. The frantic beating of her heart is sure. She nods, because she feels like at this point words are superfluous.

The bed is surprisingly soft under her back; she had imagined so many sleepless nights for him that he wouldn’t have bothered with a decent mattress but it dips gently under his heavy weight above her and he kisses her again. His lips linger when it matters, test and relearn every nook and crevice of her mouth. Desire pools low in her stomach as the slow slide of their lips become deeper and harder; her fingers slide into his hair and grab the long strands, his hands draw a path down her body to her hips while he settles in between her legs.

He’s still fully clothed and yet her body rises to meet his, her hips rock against his without her control and the pressure sends a _zing_ through her body. She gaps and he smiles. His mouth leaves hers to trail its way to her chest, kissing every inch of skin exposed to him and when his lips find her beasts she sees starts falling behind her closed eyelids.

She learns she likes the feel of it. Likes the way his hand closes around her breast, likes the way his fingers tease the little peak on the top of it, likes the way his tongue feels against it while he sucks and licks and nibbles, likes the way his beard scratches and burns her skin. She loves the way he gives both her breasts the same attention.

She’s breathing hard, little moaning sounds coming out of her mouth on their own volition. This isn’t what she expected because she didn’t expect it to feel so good. “Can…” his name is a desperate whimper of something she needs and doesn’t quite know what it is. Her legs lock around his hips, her fingers grab his hair and she rocks against him again.

This time he moans, his mouth unlatching from her left breast at the unexpected movement. “Sanem…” his voice a warning, deep and needy and she feels powerful because she knows she’s the reason for that.

He kneels on the bed to pull his shirt over his head and she moves up with him, her hands going for the button and zipper on his pants. She’s shaking so hard she can’t quite undo his fly before his shirt is thrown somewhere and his hands replace hers.

This is the moment she’s been waiting for for almost two years. She can’t lie and say she never thought about how he’d look without his clothes on, he left a lot to the imagination every time he was shirtless around her. Now that it’s happening she’s afraid because it’s a step she’s taking away from who she is now to who she’ll be after and it can never be undone.

Then… he’s completely naked. He’s perfect, every part of him with hard muscles and lean shape and skin tanned as if he’s been kissed by the sun every day of his life. And when her eyes follow that fair patch of hair down below his bellybutton she hesitates; he’s hard and _big_ and her breath catches, her heart suddenly beating fast not because she’s anxious but because she’s afraid.  She doesn’t think he notices her hesitation because he leans above her and lays between her legs again and this time there’s only the thin material of her lacy underwear separating them.

His hands find her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks in a caress so gentle she can barely feel his touch. “We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” she answers quickly, before she can think, before she can consider the implications, before she can analyze the probabilities of her feeling pain. She can’t stop now, not when his mouth has been everywhere, not when she’s almost completely naked under him, not when she can feel him almost vibrating where he’s pressing against her most intimate part.

He kisses her, gentle, slow, deep. He kisses her as if he has all the time in the world to memorize every slide of their lips. “If you want to stop, tell me to stop.”

She nods; his eyes are focused on hers, brown on brown and they’re both laboring their breathing, trying to control their anxiety. Maybe he should just do it, one swift thrust and be done with it. It’d hurt but it’d be quick, then she’d be free to everything that came after. Or maybe he should distract her and do it when she isn’t paying attention. Or maybe-

“Relax,” he whispers in her ear, his breath warm, tickling her skin and she realizes he can read all her worried thoughts as easily as she can see the raw desire on his face.  Her face turns several shades of pink, competing with the summer sky while it fades into twilight. She doesn’t really have the time to think of a response because he kisses her open lips and does a quick sweep of her mouth with his tongue.

He goes back to her breasts and she does relax, closing her eyes and letting the sensations wash over her, the sound of the waves splashing against the sides of the boat a calming symphony that makes all her worries disappear.

Until his mouth continues the path down.

She tells herself to _relax, relax, relax_ , to enjoy the way he’s kissing and licking every inch of skin until he reaches her underwear and sneaks his finger under the hem to pull them down. She’s sure he can hear her heart screaming against her ribcage and her lungs expanding almost to the point of bursting; she’s shaking in anticipation, suffocating in bashfulness.

He pulls her panties off and she can tell she’s _so wet_ ; she’s throbbing and it’s almost painful this aching for him. He kisses the inside of one thigh on a spot she finds out in that very moment is more sensitive than anywhere else he had kissed. She tries to reach out for him, to close her fingers around his hair, to keep this connection but the moment his mouth touches that _throbbing_ spot she sees stars explode.

His mouth is hot against her feverish skin and when he closes his lips around the swollen mound and sucks on it, she moans. _Loud_. A whimpering sound that is half desperate, half begging and she may have moaned his name but she can’t really tell. When this day started she never expected it to end up like this: with his head between her legs and her making sounds she didn’t recognize. He sucks and licks sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, he does it at his own pace while she writhes under him until he has to hold her hips to keep her from moving.

That pressure that had been simmering under her skin starts boiling, growing until every cell in her body feels like it’s coming apart, as if the world suddenly skids to a stop and throws her off balance. There’s only the loose sheets to hold on when that pressure explodes and she gasps.

When her chest stops heaving, and her breathing slows down, she opens her eyes and sees him staring at her. “Hi,” she says because she’s unsure of what words her brain wants to form, because her legs are still tingling, because her heart is still beating out of rhythm. Because he’s grinning like someone that just got what he had been wanting for a long time.

“Hi,” he says back and she smiles.

She takes one moment more to let herself stop shaking, then her hands cover his cheeks, fingers rubbing against his beard. She always loved the feel of it under her palms, scratching her cheeks, teasing her nose and lips. Now she knows she loves the feel of it rubbing against her thighs while he licks the inside of her legs.

She kisses him. She envelops her small hand on the back of his neck and brings him down to meet her lips, to keep him in place while she does a thorough study of his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue, enjoying the way he seems to know exactly how she likes to be kissed.

She feels his hardness teasing her entrance, the tip rubbing her swollen skin and she pulls back from the kiss. He’s restraining himself so hard he almost looks desperate. “It’s ok,” she says, encouraging him to go on and kisses him again to stop him from saying anything, to show him there’s nothing else she wants but this. 

When she saw him for the first time he was staring at her with interest and curiosity while she was mortified. She hadn’t recognized him then as the person she kissed in the dark, hadn’t recognized his big hands were the ones that had rested against her hips, but now she can tell every scar, every misplaced strand of hair, every intake of breath as his. During that year he had dug a hole into her heart and buried himself there, planted seeds so deep that made it impossible for her to remove the roots.

The year they spent apart felt like everything of his inside of her was rotting away. What she had said earlier was true: the only thing she wanted to get over Can all this time was the pain. Not him, never him. For the rest of her life she’d be his.

“Open your legs wider.”

She obeys and he adjusts their position, then he kisses her hard and deep and she knows he’s doing it to distract her from what he’s about to do, but when he enters her she lets go of his lips and gasps. It doesn’t _hurt_ , but it feels strange, as if she’s been stretched a bit too far. It’s uncomfortable, but not painful. She feels filled up completely, absolutely, because now he’s inside her mind, her heart, her veins, her body; there’s not a single inch of skin he hasn’t touched, hasn’t claimed as his.

It’s not hard, really; once it starts it’s easy for their bodies to find their rhythm. He moves slow at first, gently pulling in and out until she’s used to the feeling, until the burning in her stomach starts growing, until she’s meeting his pace and urging him to go faster, until she’s moaning between every hard intake of breath. Her fingers dig into the skin of his back and she wonders if he’ll have marks tomorrow. She hopes he will.

He’s thrusting in a frantic pace now and if he asks her name right now she won’t be able to say it, all she can do is keep her eyes closed and _feel_ him everywhere. He’s breathing hard into her neck, and the sounds he’s making are loud and mixing with her own and she’s surprised to learn it turns her on even more.

There’s nothing else inside the small cabin but their hard breathing, their hearts beating, their bodies moving and coming apart together. She falls over first, cocooned by the feelings overwhelming her senses, by his body pressing against her inside and out; then he follows, groaning into her neck, fingers digging into the flash of her hips as he thrusts one last time.

 _Wow_ , she thinks. She lays there with him on top of her, with him inside of her, thinking of how _good_ it feels, wondering why she waited so damn long for this to happen, regretting the fact they could have been doing this for so long.

He moves and she immediately feels empty, as if something crucial has been removed that needs to be put back as soon as possible. But she doesn’t have much time to think about this because he pulls her to him and she snuggles against his side, one hand on his chest, resting on top of his heart, their legs tangled and feet rubbing against each other and she’s sure they look like one of those renaissance paintings; he’s holding her tight to him, fingers brushing lazily under her breast.

“I love you.”

She turns her head up to look him in the eyes and smiles. “I love you too.”

“Promise me from now on we’ll talk. No more misunderstandings, no more things half said.” There’s worry on his face, on the way he’s holding her cheek, on the way he holds her to him.

She’s afraid too: of the senseless fights, of the silence between them, of expecting the other to figure out what one is not saying. “No more running away, either. No matter how stupid I am.”

“No more running away,” he agrees.

The night is still long ahead of them so they spend it with him on top of her, moving slowly and lazily until she begs him to go deeper; they spend it with him learning everything that makes her tick, everything that makes her moan; they spend it with her learning to take control, to crawl on top of him and make him call out her name.

And they sleep in between until it’s time to sail back home.


End file.
